


The wasted time

by sherbal



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: I'm just messing with the tags, M/M, No JohnLock sorry, Post-Reichenbach, SherlockS4, The finale made me so angry so I made it worse, angst with jokes, from s2 to s4, mycroft is not a posh lord, yes they have sex a lot but I didn't write them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9314075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherbal/pseuds/sherbal
Summary: "You know I'm not talking about Sherlock. Why are you here if you hate leg work so much? Actually, what are you doing all night? You talked to a client. You played game with us. You tackled down a man. You are not like you. Mycroft."





	1. The fading of romance

**Author's Note:**

> please please please tell me what you think of this.  
> I'm currently writing chapter two and have a bit of writer's block.  
> Any opinions are welcome.  
> 

Have you ever lost someone?  
Feeling the numb pain that slowly eats you from inside?  
Have you ever cried in the dark?  
Wiping the nonexistent tears that don't come off of your eyes any more?  
Have you ever been thinking about someone for a long time?  
The more you think about them, the more you can't remember their faces.

John was mourning. Everyone thought so. Everyone thought he needed space and just left the poor man alone. They always closed the door with sympathetic looks on their faces and said goodbye in such tender voices to not alarm him.  
They hugged him and sat at the furthest end of the sofa to give him some space.  
They talked to each other in low voices about how to make him feel better.  
They thought he wouldn't hear it.  
He did.

Everyone tried not to mention his name. This familiar word was lingering in the air,on the tip of his tongue. They dared not to speak it out as if saying it would unleash the mysterious beast from hell.  
"You mean Sherlock." He said the forbidden name out loud.  
Greg looked worried for a minute and then examined his face with extra care to look for any sign of anything.  
"Yes....him." The DI said seconds later. He opened his mouth and closed it like a dying fish gasping for air.  
John laughed secretly.

He stopped thinking about Sherlock after exactly three days when that man jumped off a hospital's roof in front of him.  
What is the worst thing you could do to your friends?  
Not telling them your darkest secret. No.  
Dying in front of them is a lot more worse. It can't be reversed. Death simply can't be negotiated.  
After spending too much time thinking about Sherlock, John found himself unable to remember his faces. The more you think of someone, the more you can't remember them correctly.

It was like him putting Sherlock in a box and throwing away the keys in his mind.  
He still felt grief and pain.  
But he couldn't remember what for.  
He had lunch with old mates in a sunny day. He had warm latte in a cold morning. He wore warm coat for a windy day. He should feel happy and carefree. He should be grateful for the beautiful life, for the little happiness. But he felt sorrow. He felt like having an eternally bleeding wound inside.  
He didn't know what for.  
But he still felt it everyday.  
//  
Even thought he forgot about Sherlock. People always assumed he didn't. He tried to say he was fine. But no one believed him.  
Molly sent him girly email cards almost every week. Some silly bears popping out of a box to greet him with some encouraging words.  
Greg took him out to the pub occasionally. It always ended up in the DI hurrying out of the pub on his phone, apologizing about leaving early for a case.  
He moved from 221b. He constantly reminded himself to call Mrs Hudson but he always forgot. Like the way he forgot Sherlock. He actually thought of him many times a day. But he couldn't remember it.

He didn't expect to see Mycroft. He thought they were done with Sherlock gone.  
He knew Mycroft used him as some sort of babysitter for Sherlock. He didn't mind. He cared for Sherlock no matter Mycroft asked him to or not anyway.  
He didn't see him quite often in the old days. After all, Mycroft was a very busy man and himself was a very busy man.  
It was fair to say that John didn't hate him. Far from liking, of course. The tall man always had the ability to make the temperature of the room fall several degrees. This was the kind of man kissing the queen's hand instead of having a casual chat with in the pub. They were acquaintances because of Sherlock.  
But since their only connection smashed his head on the pavement, it was time to go separate ways.  
Mycroft didn't.  
He didn't know whether it was good or not.  
//  
Mycroft picked him up from 221b to the funeral that morning. Five days after the fall.  
It was a bright day with hot sun and no clouds.  
The world apparently still went on without Sherlock Holmes.  
John wanted to laugh at his grave to tell him that.  
On their way to the graveyard, he and Mycroft sat in the back of that car, staring blankly at the front seats.  
He should hate Mycroft for giving away his brother so easily.  
He should spit on this tall man'a face and tell him to fuck off.  
He didn't.  
He put on his black jacket that morning. And for a moment, he didn't know what he wore that for.  
He forgot Sherlock. He didn't care.  
It hurt. But he couldn't remember what for.  
He was actually surprised at how well he was coping with this. There was no single tear on his face when other people around him were all weeping.  
He saw Greg excused himself to smoke by the graveyard's gate.  
He saw Mrs Hudson crying in Molly's arms.  
Some people from Sherlock's homeless network came. Men and women. Everyone wet his or her eyes.  
But he couldn't spare a tear. So did Mycroft.  
Their similar reactions made him like this man than ever before. It was nice to know there was still someone out there who didn't weep and wipe their eyes.  
Even though the marble gravestone in front of them belonged to Mycroft's brother and his best friend.

He thought he was tough.  
He wasn't.  
His knee felt weak the moment he saw the grave. The gravity welcomed him to the solid ground.  
A pair of strong hands held him under the armpits from behind before he hit the pebbled road.  
"Can you walk?" Mycroft said plainly.  
He nodded. Then the tall man let go.  
He didn't give John any concerning looks. Or to check if he was okay. Mycroft just let him go and carried on walking.  
John appreciated it.  
//  
He didn't expect to see him afterwards. He just carried on with his little life. Being a full time doctor at some local clinic can be very stressful sometimes. He moved from Baker Street and went to find a flat in the suburbs.  
He read books. Watched movies. Did anything without being interrupted.  
He cooked for himself and washed dishes right after he finished.  
He made tea for one and stopped buying sugar.  
He was all fine by himself.  
Except a huge wound in his heart never stopped bleeding.

He was eating pasta that had been in his fridge for three days that night.  
The door bell rang.  
He didn't expect anyone. But he knew it perhaps was Mrs Hudson or Molly or Greg or even his sister, depended on how much drinks she had.  
Honestly, the last one on earth he expected to see was Mycroft outside his door.  
"May I come in, John?" It was dark outside. The sun went down a lone time ago. The tall man blocked the light from the street lamp.  
John was a solider but he was never good at taking orders.  
But he stepped back to let him in.  
He thought he forgot a lot of things along with Sherlock's death.  
The tall man squeezed in from the small gap John gave him swiftly like a cat.

John didn't know why he was there. But chose to ignore him.  
John sat down behind his kitchen table once again, eating his slightly cold pasta.  
Mycroft followed him to the kitchen. And sat at the opposite side of the table.  
John thought this might have something to do with Sherlock.  
Right, everything had something to do with Sherlock.  
But Mycroft didn't speak anything.  
He just sat there doing nothing.  
John lifted his head from his pasta to spare a glance at him, only to find that Mycroft was staring at his kitchen. His eyes were not sharp as usual. John could tell that Mycroft wasn't gathering information like he always did. He just sat there, opposite of John, glancing at john's small kitchen.  
Mycroft titled his head to look John in the eyes. John stared at him for a while.  
It became ridiculous somehow. No one spoke.  
So John got his attention back to his now cold pasta. He didn't know whether Mycroft was staring at him now. He just wanted to finish his dinner.  
When he stood up to put the dishes in the sink, Mycroft stood up.  
"Good evening, John."  
Then he left.

Next time, perhaps a Friday night, he was eating yesterday's pizzas while watching a document about birds in Africa. The door bell rang. He wasn't expecting anyone. He opened the door and it was Mycroft again.  
He let him in anyway.  
Then Sherlock's older brother followed him to his living room and sat on an armchair across him.  
He didn't say anything. John didn't say anything either.

When they finished the document, Mycroft stood up again.  
"Good evening, John."  
Then he was gone.  
//  
John didn't know why he came here. Not to inform him of anything. Just stayed for about half an hour and left.  
This happened about four times in the following month and they spoke nothing.  
Then at a hot summer night, maybe a nice Saturday's evening, John decided to do something about it.  
He didn't have any air conditioning in his new flat. The cold bath didn't help with the high temperature either. His T-shirt was soaking wet with sweat.  
Mycroft still wore the three-piece suits.  
Even being called the ice man, Mycroft was still a human being.  
He never stopped mopping the sweat from his forehead. But he didn't leave. He was still there in this suffocating room while John was eating his dinner.  
"Do you always have to wear that?" John asked.  
Mycroft looked surprised for a moment.  
"I believe being decent is a necessity at work. People always form their first impression from what you wear. After all, you can't wear a polo shirt to see the queen." Mycroft smiled.  
"But you are not at work now, are you?" John stuck his chopsticks into one dumpling to fish it out of the takeaway box. He still wasn't good at using them.  
Mycroft frowned at him wrestling with that dumpling for a while.  
And then stood up. John thought he was going to leave.  
But Mycroft took off his jacket and then his waist coat and sat down again on the armchair to roll up his sleeves.  
The white shirt he was wearing was soaking wet too.  
John was glad to see that he was actually human instead of a deadly robot with wires in it.  
"Sorry, the fan was broken." John gestured at the fan on one of the chairs.  
"Do you have any tools? Like screwdrivers and pliers?" Mycroft took s closer look at the broken fan while loosening his tie.  
John found the tool box under the kitchen's sink.

It was fun to watch the British government repairing an electric fan.  
John wondered if any agents worked for Mycroft could see this. Their boss, the ice man, the national importance, kneeling in front of a chair to remove the screws from a broken fan.  
It was hilarious. He should sell tickets.  
The fan worked after three minutes.  
"Good evening, John." Then he left again.

Sherlock never did that. All he did was tearing something up or breaking something.  
Like John's heart.

He slept well that night with a well-functioning fan.  
//  
Mycroft still came to see him afterwards. John didn't think he was following a schedule. Sometimes he would came twice a week. And sometimes, he didn't show up for two weeks.  
They didn't talk much. Just the usual stuff.  
Although there was no usual in this case, but they got along.

Mycroft always came during dinner times. He sometimes brought files with him. And John found it reassuring to eat with sounds of flipping papers quietly.

John didn't ask why he came here. Mycroft didn't explain it either.

On one occasion, when John was in a very good mood, he offered some of his noodles to Mycroft who gladly took them.

At one time, after John made some tea for both of them. He asked something that he was curious about for a very long time.  
"Are you married? "  
Mycroft stopped texting on his phone.  
"No."  
"But that's a wedding ring, isn't it?" John pointed at the gold ring on Mycroft's right hand.  
"I was once married for two years." He sat down his phone on the kitchen table.  
John wasn't sure whether he should continue this subject. But Mycroft explained further.  
"She died."  
"I'm sorry." John was uncomfortable with talking about death.  
"Don't be. She and her lover had a car crash after a party. Founded nude when they pulled her out of the car. It was a disgrace. But her father, one of my esteemed colleagues, made it up to me afterwards." Mycroft said this in such a relaxed way as if he was telling someone else's story.  
"But you miss her." John poured more tea into his mug." You still wear your wedding ring."  
"In my colleagues' eyes, yes. But it's only to show I have no intention of getting into any relationships." Mycroft toyed with his ring.  
"Why not?" John sipped his tea." I never understand why you and Sherlock regard love and romance as something unacceptable."  
"When you love someone, John, you have so much to care about. Caring is not an advantage. The more you care about, the weaker you are."  
John didn't reply. Mycroft noticed the silence gap and raised his head to look at him.  
Just when he was about to say anything, John said"You are right."  
Mycroft never expected that. He believe in his own way but he never expected that any one else except his brother would actually agree with him. That's what makes him different, makes him stand out.  
Then he said something he never said before.  
"But we are all human. Caring is dangerous and destructive but we can't help it. Even Sherlock." He paused for a second." Even me."  
John widened his eyes.  
"When my wife died, even though I had no feelings for her. I felt strange. Coming home to no one. The fact that she was a slut doesn't change anything." Mycroft smiled at his choice of word." But when she was gone, I felt sorry for her. We all care, John."

Mycroft left again.  
John was crumbling inside.

Many people assumed that he and Sherlock were lovers. They must be. Living together, solving crimes together. The short fella might suck the tall block's dick when they closed the door.  
But no. They were just very good friends.  
There were no secret affairs or kisses in the dark alley.  
He wasn't interested in Sherlock and Sherlock wasn't interested in anyone.  
They cared a lot for each other and were both willing to die for each other. But not all things have to do with romance.  
Sherlock was good looking, sort of.  
But John didn't think of him that way.  
It was great to find the other puzzle to complete you. Sherlock almost gave him his second life. If he hadn't met Sherlock, he might be rotting a long time ago in his flat without anyone noticing.  
But then Sherlock took away his life by jumping off the roof, smashing his fucking head onto the fucking pavement.  
He could stop thinking about it like he had forgotten the death of his best friend until now.  
He tried to wash Mycroft's mug in the sink.  
But his hands were shaking.  
Finally, John Watson, the army doctor , cried for the first time since Sherlock was gone.  
//  
He stood there, in front of his kitchen's window, face in hands, crying.  
He turned to reach the napkins on the table only to find Mycroft standing right behind him.  
When did he come back? John hadn't noticed.  
John couldn't read Mycroft's face since the much taller man stood with his back to the light.  
Mycroft handed him some napkins and stepped back.  
"I came back to say happy birthday."  
Then the other Holmes left.  
It was his birthday. He didn't even remember it.  
Caring is not an advantage.  
//  
He tried not to think about Sherlock. About the man's long coat flying in the cold London wind. About how he jumped up and down in their little flat. About their many dinners together.  
He couldn't say he missed him. But he missed him every single day.

But he must learn to move on. He considered buying a car because he lived really far from the clinic he worked in. But he couldn't drive. He never thought about getting a driving license before.  
He never lived far from his school or his work place. He liked being in a familiar place surrounded by familiar faces.  
But now, he really had to give it a go.  
He looked up driving schools on the internet and found a nice one.  
He called and booked the time.

As it turned out, he didn't need it.  
At exactly seven pm, he got a text from Mycroft.  
"Come outside, John. MH"  
He rolled his eyes and put on his jacket.  
He was actually expecting to see a little black Mercedes waiting outside his flat, taking him to some abandoned warehouse or weird clubs.  
But, a bright yellow Aston Martin was there instead, with Mycroft in the driving seat.  
The man in the car waved at him to come in.  
He obediently opened the passenger's door.  
"Nice car! Is her yours?" John buckled up the seat belt and still was amazed by the wonderful interior of this beauty.  
"A friend's. He lent it to me."  
"Jeremy Clarkson?" John laughed.  
To his surprise, Mycroft didn't laugh at his joke. Holy Mary.  
"We are going for a ride? Racing on M5?" John felt the leather dashboard under his hands with awe.  
"A driving course, perhaps?" Mycroft started the car. "I've found a perfect place for your first lesson."  
"Sorry, what? How... " John frowned, and then palmed his face." Of course the almighty Mycroft. You spy on my internet records? Why do you still do this after... after he was gone?"  
The air in the car suddenly grew cold.  
"I promised him to take care of you." Mycroft stopped to wait for the traffic lights and spared John a glance.  
He didn't actually know what to say about this. He didn't want to be taken care of like he was Sherlock's widow or child. But he realized he really needed this now. To be taken care of.  
He spent almost all his life taking care of patients, his sister and then Sherlock.  
Once in a while, he secretly wanted to be treated with care. To be fed and washed clean.  
To feel important.  
And now, the man who was driving this super car was taking care of him for whatever reason. John was grateful.  
"You know my internet records." John said as a matter of fact.  
Mycroft nodded while changing into second gear.  
"Could you stop doing that? I mean, I appreciate the effort. But I'm really not impressed by someone knowing all my porn collections."  
"Your choice of that sort of thing surely surprised me, John." Mycroft said with a delightful tone.  
"Mycroft!" John was embarrassed." I'm not discussing porns with you. "  
Mycroft laughed.  
"Just stop spying on me, okay?"  
Mycroft said nothing and John didn't insist.  
//  
They've reached a broad street with no pedestrians and few cars.  
Mycroft asked them to change seats and told him to turn on the keys.  
"Now, this is a manual, so I'm going to teach you how to change gears. Put your hand on the gear stick, please."  
Mycroft seemed like a good teacher.  
"Put your foot on the clutch and slowly change into the first gear."  
John didn't know where was the first gear.  
"No, that's the fifth gear." Then Mycroft showed him how to reach the first gear.  
When John tried it awkwardly again, Mycroft was amused.  
"Your hand gesture, John. That's not good."  
Mycroft wrapped his right hand on John's left one to show him how to do it properly.  
Mycroft's hand was larger than his, paler and stronger. It almost didn't look like an office worker's hand. This hand should belong to a solider or assassin or a karate master.  
Their hands were touching. He hadn't touched anyone's hand properly for a very long time. When was the last time he had an relationship with anyone? What was the name of his last girlfriend?  
He couldn't remember.

"John? Now it's your turn."  
For the love of God, he got carried away and didn't remember any of it.  
He smiled awkwardly and licked his dry mouth.  
"Could you show me again?"  
He swore he wasn't trying to take any advantages. He simply didn't remember how to change gear.  
Mycroft smiled. And put his hand on John's once again.

Mycroft was extremely patient and John was learning well.  
He could now drive for a couple of yards without being reprimanded by Mycroft.  
His heart was pounding and for several minutes, he didn't think about Sherlock.

Finally, Mycroft instructed him to leave this street and turned into another one. A very busy one. He was nervous and sweating.  
When the traffic light turned green, his foot left the clutch too quickly that the car stalled.  
He turned on the key and the car stalled again.  
The drivers behind him started to honk, which made him even more nervous.  
John clumsily changed the gears. And the car stalled again.  
He was holding up traffic.  
When he tried it again, Mycroft held his hand.  
"There is no need to rush, John. Change into the first gear, put your foot on the accelerator and lift your other foot from the clutch slowly."  
John did as he was told and the car was finally moving forward.

They stopped outside the Chinatown eventually.  
Mycroft told him to get out and lock the door.  
He admired the car once more before they went into an exquisite Chinese restaurant.  
While they were waiting for the food, Mycroft told him that he was doing fine.  
John had an older sister. But she never did what an older sibling should do. In most times, John was the one to save her from being bullied at the school and lie for her in front of parents about her wounds.  
Mycroft here was like his big brother. Even though he was actually the brother of John's dead flatmate.  
Mycroft even taught him how to use chopsticks properly.  
He was caring and warm and like no one else.  
John didn't actually care why Mycroft did this for him.  
He learned to enjoy while he still could.

When he drove back to his flat, Mycroft said goodbye. And he remembered today was the day exactly one year after Sherlock was dead.  
John leaned across the gear stick and kissed his best friend' brother.  
It was a chaste kiss to say thank you.  
Mycroft stared at him with wide eyes after they parted.  
"Goodbye, Mycroft." John shut the door.  
After he went upstairs, a sound of alarm going off came outside. He quickly went to his kitchen 's window to see what happened.  
The yellow Aston Martin smashed its backside to the car that was parked behind it.  
Oops, John just remembered he forgot to put on the handbrake.  
The Aston Martin went away. John was sure that Mycroft's people were already dealing with this.  
Now, he owed Mycroft thousands.  
//  
He thought about calling Mycroft to apologize for his stupid mistake in the following week. But he decided to apologize in person next time he saw Mycroft.  
On next Sunday, after his nap, he received Mycroft's text.  
"Come outside. MH"  
He went out, finding himself staring at a blue Porsche.  
Mycroft sat on the passenger seat already.  
"I'm sorry about last week. I'll pay for it. " John said while putting on his seatbelt.  
"It was only a scratch. Nothing to be worried about."  
"So Jeremy Clarkson lent you another of his cars after... em, I ruined it?"  
Mycroft smiled.  
"Let's see if you have any improvement today."

They barely talked during their session. Mycroft told him instructions and he simply followed them. Mycroft didn't touch him. Twisting his long body to sit as far away from John as possible.  
He did well. Actually much better than last time.  
But the weather turned so bad. The rain was pouring from the sky that it was becoming hard to drive. They switched seats because this situation was really difficult for a new beginner.  
They stopped at John's front door at half past four.  
"Sorry about dinner. Maybe next time." Mycroft said without looking at him.  
John was just about to open the car door and he turned around to face Mycroft.  
"I'm thinking about getting some takeaway. Care to join me?" He didn't know what the older man would say.  
"My pleasure."

Mycroft followed him into his living room.  
"I'll put on the kettle then. Coffee or tea?" John walked into the kitchen.  
Mycroft didn't answer him. So he asked again.  
"Neither." Mycroft was standing right behind him. John almost dropped the mug.  
"I didn't come upstairs for a drink." The room was dim. The taller man stepped forward leaving little room between them.  
"So what do you want then?" John licked his mouth nervously. He could see what was going on here.

Mycroft kissed him.  
Long and hard, with tongue in his mouth. Busy hands wandering around his body. Long thighs between his legs.  
He was lifted to sit on the kitchen's table by Mycroft, whose hands were ripping John's shirt apart, desperate to feel the warm skin underneath. Who would have known that the ice man was such an animal under the suits.  
"Mycroft."  
"Yes?" The older man mumbled to his neck.  
"Shall we move to the bedroom?"

The sex was great. Actually one of the best in many years.  
When they were lying side by side, just to catch a breath. John giggled.  
"Whoever called you an ice man surely should see what you've done."  
Mycroft stroked John's hair lightly." I've been called worse. When I'm in the public school, it was painful before I learned to hide my thoughts instead of speaking them out lot. But Sherlock never could manage this skill. All the kids hated us because of him."  
His mentioning of Sherlock's name dragged John back to reality.  
What was he doing? Sleeping with his dead friend's brother as some sort of memorial?  
The kiss last week was wrong and he even made further mistakes.  
He didn't know exactly why he chose to do this with Mycroft.

And now he could barely look at him in the eyes.  
"Mycroft, I know it sound a bit harsh and inappropriate. Do you think we should continue this?" John was lying there staring into the dark.  
"What do you think?" Mycroft propped an elbow up on the pillow, turning to face him, looking at him with tense.  
"I don't know."John said honestly.  
"John..." Then Mycroft's phone rang. It was in the pocket of his jacket which was scattered on the floor.  
"You should get this." John sat up straight.  
Mycroft sighed and got off bed to take the call.  
John watched the naked lean figure walked out of the bedroom.  
"He's charming." John thought.  
A moment later, Mycroft returned and put on his clothes.  
"I'm sorry John. There's been a bit of an emergency that needs my attention. Perhaps I have to leave now."  
John nodded.  
He sat there listening to the rain and the Mycroft's footstep fading away.  
//  
John saw on the tv about the turbulence in the Mideast and Korean elections. He thought which emergency Mycroft might be interfering about.  
He missed him but unlike the way he missed Sherlock. He knew he was about to see Mycroft next week. This made his heart flutter.  
The rain didn't stop and on one rainy day, he shared his umbrella with one of the nurses working in his clinic.  
The nurse was Mary.

Mycroft came next Saturday, with a new Mercedes.  
"Your third lesson, John. Hopefully, it won't be raining this afternoon." Mycroft smiled.

When they pulled up by John's front door, it was about nine pm.  
John put on the handbrake and just sat there, struggling.  
Mycroft didn't say anything, simply waiting here beside him.  
Wasn't it easy for a superior mind to see right through John? Probably everything he was about to say had already crossed Mycroft's mind.  
"Do you fancy a cup of tea?" John felt his cheek was burning.  
"Yes, that would be lovely. I'm dying of thirst."

They had sex, again and next time after their driving lessons, they skipped the courtesy and went right up to the topic.  
Many moths had passed.  
Still didn't talk about it.  
//  
Mary was good. Mundane and normal. She was a good girl with a bright smile.  
That was what he needed. A normal person, a sane person who even seemed boring at some point.  
Not someone who spied on him and fucked him on the kitchen's table.  
Not someone who behaved like a high-functioning sociopath all the time.  
Mundane was good. Mundane would do.  
They had sex. Slow romantic ones. 

John refused to mention this to Mycroft. But he knew that the ice man probably had already known it.  
They continued their routine.  
Mycroft arrived at his house with a flashy super car and they had sex after their driving lessons.  
Things were pretty much that simple that time.  
Until one afternoon. John put on the handbrake and inhaled deeply to prepare for a serious conversation.  
"Mycroft, I've met someone."  
Mycroft didn't seem surprised or anything. He listened.  
"Her name is Mary as I presumed you've already known about it. It's getting serious and I'm going to ask her to move in with me."  
John twisted his hands unknowingly.  
"I don't know how you feel about our... time together. Hell, I don't even know how I feel about it. Sherlock and I never talked seriously about feelings. I know you all hate talking about sentiments. But I need to know whether it's okay that we stopped this."  
Mycroft watched him with careful eyes.  
"John. If you don't want it any more, we can stop this immediately."  
"No, Mycroft. I'm asking how you feel about it. Not me wanting it or not. The thing...em between you and me concerns both parties so don't make it look like it is totally depended on me."  
"I have nothing to say if you wish to stop this."  
John banged his head on the window of this new Bentley.  
"Mycroft, Sherlock despised sentiments by avoiding it completely. You despise sentiments by letting them be others' job. How can you not see this? Why don't you say what you really think after what you've done for me for a really long time?"  
"I can't, john. Don't make me." That was all Mycroft could say.  
John got out the car without saying anything else.

Mycroft never came to see him again.  
John dared not to say he missed him. He missed him. But he felt guilty now by just thinking about it.  
//  
He passed his driving test and got his first car.  
He took Mary to the countryside in their little Audi. When Mary sat next to him, holding hands when they were caught up in traffic. He always thought about those large hands around his own.  
He wondered what Mycroft was doing at this time, or any time.  
When it was his birthday, Mary cooked a candlelight dinner for both of them. They had sex and when he got up in the middle of the night for water.  
He got a text from Mycroft.  
"Happy birthday, John. MH"  
That made him quite furious. Damn you, Mycroft Holmes.  
You bloody twat.  
How could you?

John sat on their living room, thinking about whether he should reply or not.  
"Thanks. JW"  
John laid down his phone and went for a drink. When he came back, there was no text from Mycroft.  
"I mean, thanks for everything."  
He heard a soft snoring noise from their bedroom. Mary was sound asleep.  
Mycroft never stayed over. The best he could do was staying before they finished the takeaway.  
They didn't cuddle afterwards. They just lay there side by side, talking. Mycroft would usually prop an elbow on the pillow to turn to watch him.  
John knew it was not okay sitting there texting a man while his fiancée was sleeping in the other room.  
He waited for another five minutes and decided to went in.  
That was when the text came in.  
"John, I need you to come outside."  
He did as he was told, putting on his dressing grown. And dear God, he was in a rush he even were still wearing his slippers.

Mycroft was waiting outside. It was late, there was no one else on the street. Even the street lamps' light seemed tired.  
John didn't say anything. He waited.  
"Happy birthday,John." Mycroft looked tired for the very first time.  
"Thanks, for everything. I should say this before, but I never had the chance. So,right, thank you, Mycroft."  
The summer night had a little breeze. John inhaled the cool air to make his confession out of his lungs.  
"Would you mind if we go for a ride?" Mycroft opened the car door.  
"It's the Aston Martin. Isn't the one we used it before?" John felt the steeling wheel under his hands. He missed this too.  
"Yes. It's a circle isn't it. Now we are back in the beginning ."  
Right, the beginning.  
"Where are we going?"  
"Baker Street."  
"Why?"  
Mycroft turned to look at John.  
"You'll know."

The Baker Street looked far more alive than where he lived. Even though it was about midnight, there were still people walking on it.  
When they stopped at the front door of 221b, John asked"Now you can tell me why we are here?"  
Mycroft put on the handbrake for him.  
John flushed.  
"John, you need to be informed. You don't have to take it quickly but I want you to stay calm while you can. Is that understandable?"  
John nodded.  
Mycroft breathed deeply. John had never seen him like this before.  
"Sherlock is not dead."

John actually didn't care about how the Holmes brother did this trick.  
When Mycroft explained everything when they were still sitting in the car, John fought the urge to punch Mycroft on the nose.  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
"I'm sorry John. We can't bear this risk."  
"What risk? You are afraid I'm going to blab about how Sherlock faked his death to anyone I met in the pub?" John felt his head was burning. "Two years, Mycroft. Is this why you slept with me? You promised Sherlock to take care of me. So that's the way you water Sherlock's plant for him when he's gone. I'm not a fucking plant! Why do you think I'm happy to see him or you after this? Why give me this after I've spent two years of learning to let go? And when I finally can live on with it, you tell me that he isn't dead."  
Mycroft closed his eyes.  
"I don't water Sherlock's plant." When he tried to say something else, John opened the car door.  
"Shut it. I don't want to hear a single word from you."  
"John, listen to me."  
"If you dare to breath even a word to me, I can not control myself not to punch you in the face. Do you understand? Now, I know he's upstairs and I'm not going to meet him. So you can save it."  
John left.  
Mycroft got out of the car, trying to stop him.  
Another tall man stood next to him and said "don't."

John took a cab to get home.  
When they arrived, John said to the driver that he had to come upstairs to fetch some change.  
But when he came back, the cab was gone.  
Fuck you, Mycroft Holmes.  
//  
He did forgive Sherlock by punching him on the nose.  
So, now, he and Sherlock back together. The famous detective and his PA, not live-in though.  
Mary liked Sherlock and Sherlock seemed to treat her politely.  
It was good. Very good actually.  
He hadn't seen Mycroft for a very long time.  
It was no use saying that he missed him. He couldn't. So what was the point of that?

The wedding was in May. A spring wedding. Something he loved.  
Sherlock was panicking. He could tell. Even though Sherlock tried to avoid any sentiments, he was still human after all.  
John promised him that nothing would change after the wedding.  
To be perfect honest, he wouldn't believe it himself.

The bachelor night, Sherlock didn't make it to the fourth pub.  
John didn't know why he secretly poured more beer into Sherlock's measuring cylinder. It was perhaps he wanted this evening to end early.  
He didn't like this feeling of knowing something would die and he had to watch it happen.  
Sherlock started a fight and soon they were pushed out of the pub.  
The cabs don't do drunks so he was worried that they might have to take the bus or the tube.  
Mycroft's car came when Sherlock was sitting on the pavement shouting about ashes.

All three of them sat in the back and no one was talking, except Sherlock's nonsense.  
He was surprised to see Mycroft after six months? He lost count.  
They dragged Sherlock upstairs together. Accidentally dropping him twice.  
After settling the dead asleep Sherlock on his bed, John and Mycroft left him room.  
It was awkward really. They were both standing in the living room, trying desperately to ignore the elephant in the room.  
"Do you want a drink?" John made the first move.  
Mycroft took it.  
They sat on the armchairs that belonged to John and Sherlock.  
Mycroft sat on John's before he realized he should probably use Sherlock's.  
"It's alright." John sat on the other one.

The clock was ticking and it became the only noise in this room.  
"Shall we do something? Play a game to pass the time?" John said with his eyes fixed on his glass.  
Sherlock thought about everything and wrote them down. It would be them playing the game if John hadn't deliberately to make him take in more alcohol.  
"Yes. What game?" Mycroft's eyes were glancing the room. John thought he was probably thinking about chess.  
"Not chess, no. It's far too clever for me and even more simple for you. And Sherlock actually thought about that, so he prepared this."  
John showed Mycroft some stickers.  
"We both write down a thing's name on the sticker and stick it on the others' forehead. We shouldn't see what's on the sticker that was stuck on our forehead. And we guess it by asking questions." John avoided Mycroft's eyes.  
"I know you probably haven't done this before. But Sherlock presumed it was the best game we can play without him winning within a minute. I think it's the same to you. It's a bit silly. The game. Just to pass the time. If you've got something else to do, please don't feel the need to stay."  
"I've got nothing else to do this evening. It's my day off." Mycroft looked at the fireplace.  
John didn't know that someone like Mycroft could actually have a day off. He always thought they were all machines, working 24/7.  
He gave Mycroft a pen and some stickers to write on.  
For himself, John chewed the end of the pen to come up with something.  
He looked around the room and finally he looked at Mycroft properly.  
The older man was writing something down in a way that made him feel like he was signing some government paper.  
John liked this. He remembered the time when Mycroft was sitting in his little kitchen, glancing through some files while John was eating his dinner.  
Two years had passed and there was no way to go back to that time.

He pressed the sticker on Mycroft's forehead with shaky hands. It was long after he touched this man for the last time. Mycroft closed his eyes when he did this. John took his time to look Mycroft properly.  
It might be the last time he could stay this close to this person. John thought.  
He looked younger in dim lights. Clean-shaved with no stubble. Less wrinkles when he didn't pull a serious and solemn face.  
Then Mycroft opened his eyes to look up at John.

"Your turn, John." John closed his eyes to feel Mycroft's hands on his face.  
His thumbs pressed the sticker onto his forehead again to make sure it stick there.  
John smelt the scent of his cologne.  
He never liked wearing cologne but he enjoyed the scent when it was on Mycroft.

He straightened up a bit. Come on John. You are getting married tomorrow.

John went first.  
"Am I a human being?"  
"Yes."  
Then it was Mycroft's turn.  
"Is this in this room?" Mycroft pointed at the sticker on his forehead.  
"Yes."John sipped his wine. "My go. Am I a woman?"  
"Yes, a pretty one." Mycroft shifted on the sofa."Does this belong to Sherlock?"  
"In a way, yes." John laughed. "Am I blonde?"  
Mycroft held the glass in his hand but didn't drink it. "You are, John."  
"Does this belong to you?" Mycroft said casually.  
John didn't know how to answer this.  
"I hoped so...I don't know. I don't think this belong to me now."  
Mycroft sat down his glass, looking bewildered.  
"Am I Madonna?" John leaned back into the armchair.  
Mycroft shook his head. It was his turn now. "Do you still hope so, John?"  
John was lost for words.  
Mycroft looked at him intensely even without blinking.  
"Mycroft..." He was cut off by the woman at the door.  
"Sorry to interrupt."  
A client.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson said I could go upstairs. I'm looking for Mr Holmes." Said the woman in nurses' outfit.  
"He's em... I'll wake..." John tried to stand up.  
"I am." Mycroft smiled at the woman while pointing at the sticker on his forehead.  
"Hi, my name is Tessa knightley. But I'm looking for Mr Sherlock Holmes. You are Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock Holmes's relative, I think?" Tessa the nurse shook Mycroft's hand.  
"Yes, I'm Mycroft. Sherlock's brother. You see, Miss Knightley. Sherlock is unable to help you with your problem tonight due to his... current state. But if you wish, I'll help instead."  
John was shocked by this. Mycroft? Helping people? Dealing with clients?  
He must be dreaming now. Probably he was currently lying on the pavement outside a pub with Sherlock sprawled on him.

"John, will you help bringing a chair for Miss Knightley" Mycroft helped the woman to hang her coat.  
John was stunned.  
"Mycroft, seriously? Should I just wake up Sherlock?"  
"Let him sleep. I believe these days are quite difficult for him."  
John frowned at Mycroft's choice of words, but said nothing.  
As it turned out, Tessa was in love with her colleague's cousin Mark. They met in the clinic Tessa worked and they've been dating for two weeks. But Mark vanished like there wasn't this person before. Tessa asked her colleague about Mark and the other nurse actually didn't have any cousins. She went to the flat Mark lived and the landlord said the guy lived there died a month ago. The flat hadn't been rented out since then. Tessa thought she was dating a ghost.  
Mycroft asked her if they could go and see the flat Mark lived in. It was few blocks away so they walked there.  
John was wide-eyed all the way to the ghost's flat.  
Mycroft Holmes, walking on the street like a civilian, going to see a dead man's flat.  
He must be dreaming.

"What do you and Sherlock normally talk about when you are in this circumstance? On the way to a crime scene." Mycroft said to him.  
"We don't talk much. It's either Sherlock blabbing about how exciting he is or complete silence. Even I say something, he won't pay any attention." John moved quicker to catch with Mycroft's long stride.  
All three of them stopped to wait for the traffic light.  
Mycroft turned around."John, you still have that sticker on your forehead. Would you like to continue our game?"  
Tessa was checking her phone and didn't pay much attention to them.  
John gave up. "I can't remember the details."  
He took it off.  
It said "Mary Morstan".  
His bride.  
He didn't think of her at all.  
He felt shame.

"How about a different game? A mind exercise. And would you care to join us Miss knightley?" Mycroft kindly offered.  
"Let's make some deductions of pedestrians. My brother and I used to do this when we were young."  
Tessa looked interested, thrilling to join in.  
John, on the other hand, didn't seem that enthusiastic.

"How about that man, the one in jeans?" Mycroft pointed at the man in front of them. "What can we deduce from him?"  
They stopped to take a look. John studied the man for a while, but he still got nothing.  
"He's waiting for someone." Tessa said in a small voice.  
"How did you deduce that, Miss knightley?" Mycroft looked at her appreciatively.  
"Well, he's standing there checking his phone from time to time. "  
"That's very observant of you. What about John? Do you have any deductions?"  
John tried his best to observe. He didn't know why but he didn't want to give up this time.  
"He's waiting for his wife? He smiled every time he looked at his phone and he's wearing a wedding ring. The wallpaper on his phone was a blonde lady, who is clearly his wife." John was pleased with himself after his effort of pushing his brain to come up with something.  
Before Mycroft could speak, a brunette came across the street to greet the man. They went away holding hands.  
"He's waiting for his mistress."Mycroft looked down at his shoes.  
"Maybe she's his sister." Just when John saw them kissing on the other side of the street.  
"Maybe she dyed her hair." John refused to admit he was wrong.  
"He's wearing a scarf that makes him itchy but he doesn't take it off. It's not cold enough to wear a scarf. So it must a gift from the person he's meeting. His phone uses waterproof screen protector but his complexion shows that he doesn't need to work outdoors. This means he needs to take lots of texts and emails during shower. He's wearing a wedding ring so it will have to be an affair then. His phone's wallpaper was a blonde woman but he just changed it to a picture of a dog. That explains a lot."  
"That was amazing. You must be as good as Mr Sherlock Holmes." Tessa was impressed by this man in a three-piece suit.  
"Thank you, Miss knightley. You are very kind." Mycroft gave her the least-annoying welcoming smile.  
"Please call me Tessa if you want. Could you deduce something about me?" She even blushed.  
Mycroft then made a few deductions about her. She almost gave him her highest appraisal.  
All John could do was nodding. " Yeah, it was good. Quite good."  
There was nothing else he could say.  
//  
They went to the ghost's flat. Mycroft walked around in it for about three minutes.  
"He just left."  
"Who?"  
"The ghost."  
Then Mycroft stormed out.  
John had no idea how a man in suits could run that fast.  
He followed. Like he always did.  
For a moment, he thought he was chasing a criminal with Sherlock.  
The Holmes brothers may have more similarities than they are willing to admit.

Mycroft tackled the man onto the pavement. That Mark.  
Tessa followed them here moments later.  
"Mark?" Tessa went closer.  
The man on the pavement sighed." I'm sorry I lied to you."  
"I don't understand. Why did the landlord say you died a month ago? And you are not Jenny's cousin."  
Mycroft let the man go. Both men stood up to straighten their clothes.  
Mark reluctantly said after minutes of silence. "I'm married. I use dead men's flats and identities to date different people. I'm sorry okay?"  
"There's more, isn't it." Mycroft cut in.  
"I had a girlfriend once. The love of my life. We broke up and she was married to another. I can't forget her. So I date other women that are like her. But none of you are that identical to her. So I keep trying to find her perfect substitute." Mark covered his face."I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  
The moon was showing herself in the sky above.  
It was time to go home.  
//  
Mycroft and John left Tessa and Mark there to sort out their problems.  
"Do you think he'll find the one if he keeps trying?" John asked.  
"I don't think so. Even though you find the exact identical vase you've broken, you won't be feeling the same." Mycroft looked up to see the sky.  
"I don't know you could run that fast. I always assume you are an office worker indulging yourself with some cakes occasionally."  
"You mean, I'm a fat greedy control freak who spy on people all the time to blackmail them of their secrets."  
"That's not what I'm saying. But pretty close." John laughed.  
"I used to be a field agent. Running errands for the service in Eastern Europe. But it have been years since I was needed to do the leg work."  
"That's why you hate being out there. You must have done loads of field work."  
Mycroft nodded silently.  
"Then why are you here? I mean, why didn't you let me wake Sherlock to do this?" John stopped in the middle of an alley.  
"I said, these days are difficult for him. Let him sleep." Mycroft stopped ahead of him.  
"You know I'm not talking about Sherlock. Why are you here if you hate leg work so much? Actually, what are you doing all night? You talked to a client. You played game with us. You tackled down a man. You are not like you. Mycroft." John was breathing shakily.  
"Maybe I miss the feeling of being out there, out of my office?" Mycroft said with ease.  
"You don't. It's just not you." John stepped forward to face Mycroft who avoided his gaze.  
"You did this for me, Mycroft. Why can't you say it?" He was so close to Mycroft that he could hear Mycroft's breathing.  
"What happens to this bloody sentiment now? Don't you tell me about how cold how uncaring you are. We both know it's not true. For Christ's sake, Mycroft, don't act like you are a bloody machine!" John held onto the lapels of Mycroft's suit.  
"It doesn't change anything. You're tired. I believe it's time for you to go back." Mycroft wrapped his hands around John's to remove them from him, and then walked out of the alley.


	2. The silent curses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He wanted to drive his little Audi right through the door of that weird club of Mycroft, which he couldn't even remember the name of, and did a J turn, like fucking Jeremy Clarkson does all the time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains strong language.

Wedding in May. Lilacs around the church.  
People talking, drinking, mingling.  
John should feel like he is the happiest man on earth.  
Nothing in the world could bring more happiness than sitting between two person he loved the most in the world. Sherlock and Mary.

He heard Sherlock called Mycroft. He pretended that he was surprised when Sherlock gave him Mycroft's congratulations.  
"John, it's your wedding day." Sherlock patted him on the shoulder.  
Yes, it was his wedding day.

And he was going to be a father.  
//  
He almost forgot about Holmes brothers for several weeks.  
Until he found Sherlock in an old building full of junkies.  
He called Mycroft. He never deleted his texts, though he never read them again.  
"Will you take Sherlock back to Baker Street please, John?" Mycroft said in a tone that almost sound like begging.  
Of course he would.

When he dragged Sherlock through the door of their old flat, he saw Mycroft sitting on the stairs.  
Sherlock rushed upstairs when he heard about Anderson.  
"Domestic life must suit you. You've gained four pounds since your wedding." Mycroft sat there, toying with his umbrella.  
"Nice to see you too." John hanged his coat.  
"How's Mary?"  
"We are making small talks now?"  
Mycroft stood up.  
"Yes, we are."  
"Where's your wedding ring? You always wear your wedding ring." John noticed Mycroft's right hand.  
"I sent it to be cleaned this morning."  
"She must be grateful. Your wife. For you still wearing it."  
"Mycroft! Get your minions out of my house." Sherlock shouted from upstairs.  
"I don't think so." Mycroft went upstairs.  
//  
Sherlock was always not far away from danger.  
Shot in the chest. Right next to his heart.  
John was biting his fist outside the surgery. He didn't want to lose him again. This time wouldn't be a trick. Sherlock would die for real this time.  
Mycroft came.  
John raised his head to face Mycroft.  
They didn't speak.  
The next moment, hot tears were coming out of John's eyes.  
"The surgeons said they were losing him."  
"I know." Mycroft was cold as his usual self.  
They sat opposite of each other on the corridor in silent.  
Both waited for a miracle.

He stared at his feet for several minutes and when he lifted his head, he saw Mycroft was silently crying. Tears rolling down his long nose. His lips were trembling.  
Mycroft didn't make a slightest noise. All he did was sitting there with tears coming down his face.  
"Mycroft." John didn't know what to say. He never saw him being a human like this moment.  
"He'll make it. He's Sherlock."  
That was an apparent lie. John didn't sound very convincing.  
Mycroft didn't bother to reply.  
John got up from his seat to sit next to him.  
The tall man looked he was falling apart, shrinking into the chair. Someone so powerful crying silently like an abused child was the image John never wanted to see.  
He noticed Mycroft was still not wearing his ring.  
He got an idea.  
A dangerous one.

He made Mycroft stood up and led him to the man's room.  
Mycroft didn't say a word, silently following his lead.  
John Watson, you are going to hate yourself so much.  
Doing this, wasn't just for Mycroft. If John was being truly honest with himself.  
He gave the crying tall man a blow job in a locked toilet.  
He hadn't done this for years.  
Afterwards, he did Mycroft's flies for him. Straightened his tie and waistcoat. Wiping the tears on the older man' face while standing on his toes.  
When they were ready to come out, John hesitated and turned around to kiss Mycroft on the mouth.  
Mycroft finally acted like he was alive and cupped John's face in both hands, kissing back.

Mycroft left the moment he heard Sherlock had come back to life.  
Mary came minutes later. John hugged her. But when he thought Mary couldn't see him. He shut his eyes tightly.  
//  
What he had ever done to deserve his wife? An assassin.  
He thought Mary was mundane.  
How naive?  
John wished he was just a lunatic locked in a hospital and all these mess were just his day dreams.  
When he and Sherlock and his bloody wife came back to Baker Street, he couldn't control himself any more.  
If Mary was a man, he would be punching her on the face now.  
"What have I ever done to deserve you?" When he said this, he meant more than Mary.  
He was the weakest and stupidest person in this room. How could he not see this? Even Mrs Hudson used to run a drug cartel.  
"John, this is who you are. You are abnormally attracted to danger. You can't even stay in the suburbs for a month before you go and punch some junkies." Sherlock said the truth but he never hated him so much for saying the truth before.  
"Shut up Sherlock. Shut the fuck up!" John threw his coat onto the floor."But she's my wife. My fucking pregnant wife! She was a nurse, for Christ's sake. I married her because she wasn't like you lots. Don't you dare to say I'm addicted to danger."  
John couldn't catch his breath.  
"You slept with Mycroft before I came back. You even gave him a blow job in the bloody hospital when you were waiting for my surgery. I think this could tell a lot." Sherlock held onto the door frame tightly. Mrs Hudson dropped her cup.  
John dared not to look at anyone in this room. Even his lying wife.  
"Why do you think everything is about you, Sherlock? I slept with Mycroft because he cared for me when you were fucking pretending you were dead. He came to see me every week and listened to me more than you had ever done since I met you. He taught me how to drive for fuck's sake. He was not a fucking twat. I'm not addicted to danger. I want a normal life. I want someone who cares about my well beings instead of dragging me into more pits."  
John was tired.  
No one was talking for a really long time.  
"Mary, you are our client now." Sherlock broke the silence.  
//  
Their Christmas with the Holmes family was the most twisted one John had ever had.  
Spending the holiday with the the guy you slept with and his brother who's your previous and current flatmate, and the parents of these two, was really something for the television.  
Everyone in this house was behaving awkwardly. John didn't even know why he and Mary accepted this invitation.  
He guessed he wanted an opportunity to talk to Mary properly, to save their marriage perhaps.

He was attempting to make some small talks with Bill Wiggins. But that young man clearly still hated him for spraining his arm months before. John went through the back door to feel the cold air in the garden.

Mycroft was there, smoking.  
John rarely saw him smoke. John thought it was because of something difficult even for Mycroft.  
"Where's Sherlock?" Mycroft asked absently.  
"In the kitchen. With his protégée."  
John noticed that Mycroft was still not wearing his ring. There wasn't even a mark on his ring finger. He hadn't wearing his ring for a while.  
But John didn't have the courage to mention this.  
Mycroft abandoned his cigarette and left.

John felt relieved.  
He glanced at this little garden, imagining a child Mycroft and a even smaller Sherlock playing here decades ago.  
The door opened behind him, disrupting his fantasies.  
It was Mother Holmes.  
"Was Mike smoking out there?" She closed the door and came to stand next to John.  
John wasn't sure how to answer this without causing Mycroft any trouble.  
"You have a good heart, John. I wish my boys could be like you."  
John thought she was joking.  
"You don't want them to be like me. They are geniuses. You must be very proud about them."  
"Bringing them up was the most difficult puzzle I have ever met. Maths are much more simple compare to this." She patted John on the back. "They are smart. I can't deny that. But you know, nobody's perfect. Their advantages in mind leads to their incompetence in heart."  
"You mean, sentiments." John turned to look at her, the great mother of two of the most intelligent people he had ever met.  
"Yes, sentiments. I bet they must have given you some little speeches about how they loathe sentiments. But they are just bluffing. They have sentiments, even though they are both unwilling to admit. What worries me the most is that they don't know how to deal with sentiments." She sighed, like a tired mother after a whole day of cleaning of the mess her children made.  
"Mycroft always hides what he feels. When he was ten, little Sherlock gave Mike's favorite goldfish to the girl next door. He tried everything to trade it back. But when the girl finally agreed, the goldfish was dead. He didn't show any sign of sadness. He still smiled to that little girl. We all thought he didn't care that much. But one night, when he thought we were all asleep, I found him crying while holding the empty bowl. I never could teach them how to treat their feelings well. That's a cross I have to bear."  
She held John's hand and gave it a little squeeze.  
"I'm glad they met you, John. You are influencing them in a way you can't see. Don't underestimate yourself. A great heart is even better than a great mind." She smiled warmly, reminded John of his own mother.  
"To me, Sherlock is still an enigma. But Mycroft, despite him being all mysterious and cold, is actually the easiest one to understand."

Sherlock opened the door before John could say something.  
"Was Mycroft smoking here?" He frowned.  
"Don't think you can fool me ,Sherlock. You gave Mycroft cigarettes. How many times..."  
Sherlock closed the door.  
"Manners. Mycroft learned them but I could never teach Sherlock." She smiled and went back inside.  
//  
Another fucking heartbreak.  
Why does life always have to be a son-of-a-bitch to him?  
John wondered if he trod on a group of ants when he was a child and now they were avenging him after death.  
Sherlock shot the creepy Norwegian cunt who flicked his face twenty-two times.  
Yes, he kept track.  
Good shot, Sherlock! You bloody twat.  
You are a twat and Mycroft is an even bigger one.  
What sort of brother chose to let his own relative die in some undercover works, when he was basically the British government that could do anything at any time?  
Mary is a goddamn liar but he forgave her since he couldn't heartlessly abandon his pregnant wife.  
Why can't John Watson have a normal life like everyone else's?  
He wanted to drive his little Audi right through the door of that weird club of Mycroft, which he couldn't even remember the name of, and did a J turn, like fucking Jeremy Clarkson does all the time.  
Yes, if you excuse John Watson's language, he was just very disappointed.

And then the fucking Moriarty fucking showed up in every fucking screen of the country.  
Are you fucking kidding me?  
How many times should he endure the pain of loss and the happiness of reunion?  
You put Sherlock on a fucking airplane and then after less than five minutes you fucking called him back?  
What the fucking fuck!  
John was pissed. He wished he could punch anyone and got shot on the back of his head by Mycroft's body guards.  
//  
Life went on. He had his baby daughter Rosie. Mary picked the name. He liked it too.  
Although nursing a baby can be a very tough job, he felt happy doing this.  
Watching little Rosie reminded him of how happily married he was now and then.  
He sang her lullabies and whispered silly words and made funny noises to make her giggle.  
John never felt like this before. To love someone you can fully trust with. Even that someone was an infant.  
Rosie wouldn't pretend she is dead, or spy on his internet records. All she could do was eating and sleeping and crying loudly that made him go deaf for a moment.

He came to Baker Street to see Mrs Hudson and Sherlock occasionally. For the most of his time, he worked harder at work. For the love of baby Jesus, he got a pay rise eventually.  
Life was normal, despite the fact that he was raising a child with an ex-assassin and a woman working in the morgue and an old lady who used to own a drug cartel and of course, the Sherlock Holmes.  
They should play the Adams family.

He was thinking about choosing the right restaurant for he and Mary's wedding anniversary.  
//  
And what the fuck just happened?  
Things went out of controls all of a sudden, again!  
Were they in a bloody tv series? And he instead of Sherlock, was the unlucky hero?  
Mary was found by her ex-teammate and escaped.  
He was glad he had thought about this and came to Mycroft for help. To put a tracker inside the memory stick.  
He didn't choose Sherlock because he thought Sherlock believed they were such a lovely couple that John must love her to death. How could he doubt her?  
John didn't want to shout really loud that could make all people in Baker Street deaf.  
But John Watson actually didn't love his wife that much.  
Mary being an ex-assassin didn't make him value her more. Danger only made him alerted, not softened.  
He had dark thoughts sometimes, what if Mary wasn't pregnant when she shot Sherlock? Would he still take her back after this?  
John lied on his back to stare at the dark.

"I'm a fucking twat as well. I shouldn't see Mycroft. But I still come to him for help. I blowed him after I got married and even before I knew Mary was a goddamn liar. This is so wrong."

Mary never talked to him about Mycroft. They chose to forget about this in the same way they chose to ignore the fact that Mary was a killer.  
Although he didn't love her as he used to, he still liked her.  
Maybe it was because they all had their own little secrets. They were alike, in a strange way.  
//  
The she died.  
For saving Sherlock.  
John wondered why God or any superior supernatural beings were punishing him.  
He couldn't hold it any more.  
//  
"Is this what you want? That Mary was dead and I'm single again."  
"I didn't mean this, John."  
"Where's your fucking wedding ring, then? Did you send it to be cleaned this morning? I thought you don't want to be that blatant? What happened to the fucking sentiments now? Your mother even knew you have feelings towards me. Sherlock didn't even bother to ask before he was sure about this. Mary knew this all along and she chose to ignore it. Are you still going to say anything about sentiments?"  
"John, you need rest."  
"I'm fine. Actually I'm in the best days of my life. My wife was an assassin who died to save your brother. I slept with you after Sherlock was gone and before I married her. Of course I'm fine. My name is John imfuckingfine Watson."  
"I understand you are in a difficult time,John . But there is no need to..."  
"No you don't understand. You never will. You can never open up about sentiments, about people. Everything you ever do is based on the fact that you are a cold-blooded machine. You feel something, you say it. That's what people do!"  
"If you want me to say it, I will. I've never been in love and I don't think I'll ever know what it's like. But the closest feeling to love that I have, to Sherlock, to our family and to you... John? John! Can you hear me?"


	3. The final game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He needed medical attention and a therapist.  
> Mary told him so.  
> He really hated her for bringing up the last one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been emotional recently. I rewatched the finale with my family and i wanted to change something, despite the fact that I really don't like it.  
> I'll continue writing this.  
> This chapter will be based on S4.  
> But not exactly the way S4 is.  
> Please give me what you think of it.

He actually didn't see Mycroft after their brief encounter in the aquarium.  
He was seeing things. Not just dead people. No.  
He was seeing Mycroft, Sherlock and of course his dead wife.  
They were inhabiting themselves comfortably in his house.  
For one second, Mycroft was sipping his tea by his kitchen table while Sherlock was shooting the wall in his living room.  
When he shut his eyes and open them again, he only saw Mary looking at him disapprovingly.  
"John, you know we are not real." She said.  
Of course he knew.  
How could he not know?

 

And as time went on, he was seeing Mrs Hudson and Molly even Greg in his house.  
Every morning he woke up next to Mary, he could see Molly came out of his bathroom and Greg helped Mrs Hudson to prepare tea for Sherlock who shouted abuse at a file-looking Mycroft.  
He was crazy as nuts.  
His house became a never-ending Christmas party of eternal frustration.

He needed medical attention and a therapist.  
Mary told him so.

He really hated her for bringing up the last one.  
//  
His chose a female therapist that was actually his type. Mild and smart.  
Like Mary before she turned out to be an ex-assassin.  
They had a few sessions in the following month.  
He didn't think they were getting somewhere.  
But Mary told him to try for three more times before he should give up.

Then he thought he might have some improvements.  
Actually, he quit saying "get out of my house" to Sherlock. He just let him be. John ignored a wall-shooting/shouting/angst Sherlock. Sherlock usually only appeared in the living room. Once John closed the door of his bedroom, he wouldn't see him, apart from the noise of a gunshot sometimes.  
Mycroft sometimes knocked at his bedroom doors, but only three knocks then he gave up. John didn't reply. But once, when he was really angry, he came to the door and told Mycroft to leave.  
And at one night, he woke up to find Mycroft sitting on the chair near his bed, watching him.  
John made an impatient hand gesture to show him the door.  
Then Mycroft stood up and left.  
"How did he get in? I locked the door!" He turned to say to Mary.  
"I let him in, since he was knocking really loud this time. I think it has something to do with Sherlock."  
"I don't care."  
Then Mary closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

To be honest, the real Mycroft may have come to visit him once but he couldn't tell the difference between the reality and his imaginations.

Shit, he wasn't making any improvements at all.  
He needed to change the therapist.  
Maybe a man.  
//  
He went to see his therapist for the last time and prepared to tell her that he considered to change for another one.  
As it turned out, this wasn't needed.

"I'm Eurus. Didn't it ever occurred to you that Sherlock's secret brother might be Sherlock's secret sister?" The woman who pretended to be his therapist Madeline, revealed her true self and pointed a gun at him.  
At that exact moment, three thoughts flashed through John's weary mind.  
One, not again! He got really sick of being pointed by a fucking gun now. Why people keep doing this to him? For Christ's sake, he is a fucking doctor. Show some respect!  
Two, what the fuck? His type of women is actually Mycroft's and Sherlock's secret sister. That explained a lot, didn't it?  
Three, there's still ten minutes left for his course. And if that woman was trying to gather information or just wanted to play with him, why charging so high? Give my money back, you bitch!

"You don't seem surprised, John." That woman said.  
"I've been surprised for many times my whole life. I don't think I can be surprised by anything any more."  
"Let's not rush to the conclusion that soon. Maybe I can?" She laughed." Why don't we sit down? We still have ten minutes left."  
John sat down as he was told.  
"I've listened to you for so long. Hearing your little stories of your wife, of Sherlock. I'm tired of being an ear, John. Don't you think it's my turn to tell the story?" She held that gun in her hand and John was thinking about taking it.  
"What's your story then? Why Sherlock and Mycroft never mention about you?"  
"I'll be surprised if they do. I'm such a surprise that should be saved for the last." She was talking in riddles. "Like the final problem, the final game."  
"Let's do this quickly shall we? I come here during lunch time. I already asked for a leave three times for raking care of Rosie this month. I'm not getting this month's bonus if I take another one." John found out he actually didn't care that much.  
"Getting impatient? No wonder they love you! Look at you! So efficient! They surely love to hang around with a pet that can bounce around." Eurus laughed again. Her laughter was really not pleasant to hear.  
"Let's play a game. A mind exercise."  
John wondered why every villain likes to play a game with their hostages.  
"Would you mind explaining a few things first? Like your kind of guys always do. But they usually do it in the middle of the game as you like to call it. I only slept three hours last night and I don't think I can concentrate for a long time."  
Eurus looked at him truly with surprise. John guessed that she may have regretted about choosing such a bad time for her to do whatever this is.  
"You are really impatient. Okay, you have questions. Ask me."  
"Why they never mentioned you?"  
"Oh, a really complicated question. But I'll answer it just to have some fun telling it." She noticed John was looking at his watch impatiently. "Cut to the chase, I burned down the family house and murdered Sherlock's best friend when I'm five. I got sent away to an asylum. I guess my family except for Mycroft think I'm dead, given the number of visitors I have in recent years. That's why they don't talk about it. People tend to forget little things like they left their kettle on before they go to work or forget where the keys are, or they have a little sister locked up in hospital."  
John wasn't that surprised when he heard Eurus murdered Sherlock's best friend.  
"Why did you murder him? Sherlock's best friend. You don't seem a psychopath to me." Which was an obvious lie. But John relied on it to make things work between him and this woman.  
"What a compliment! You really have your way with women, John. The reason is fairly simple, why does anyone want to kill someone? They wouldn't play with me. They told me a girl could never be a pirate. How untrue is that! Look at me now? Making my hostage to walk the plank."  
"You killed the little boy because they wouldn't play with you."John frowned."I take my words back."  
"Well, that's hurtful. But you've still got one question left. Our schedule is really tight I think."  
"Why are you doing this? For avenging them? You've come to the wrong person. I really haven't seen them for two months? You clearly know them more than I do."  
"But I think they like you more than me. And I'm glad you asked me this. Because our little game is about to start." She seemed incredibly happy like every villain.  
John started to panic for real. He actually thought Eurus was bored and as a Holmes, she couldn't harm him. John blamed himself for not taking a nap this morning. He could have thought this through quicker.  
"Since you are not answering, I take the liberty to begin. Now John, if you are to trust one person to be with your daughter, between Mycroft and Sherlock, who would that be?" Her eyes gleamed.  
"Is this simply a question or..."  
"Or that will be the fact. Now pick one! People are waiting, John."  
"What do you mean people are waiting?"  
"Just pick one. And I'll explain further."  
John's brain didn't allow him to make such decision now. He probably would pass out.  
"Sherlock." Sherlock took care with Rosie for a couple of times when anyone else were too busy doing it.  
"But he made Mary dead. Don't you hate him?" She made a sad impression.  
"Yes, I do. But you told me to choose between these two. I have no choice!"  
"Sorry I didn't include Mrs Hudson in our little game. I like her. You should see her dancing." Eurus winked." I don't think you can. But she has a lot of fans on YouTube. Now, you've made your pick and let's move on. If Mycroft will be driving a car on an extremely dangerous and narrow mountain road, use your imaginations, John. But with no brakes. And Sherlock, will be lying on the road that Mycroft will have to drive on. Either he drive the car over Sherlock, or, he can choose to save Sherlock and drive his car off road and smash to millions of pieces?"  
"Is this happening now? Is this a real game?" John couldn't stay cold any more.  
"Telling you would be a fair game. I don't like playing fair. I pushed that little boy into a well when he wasn't noticing. Really don't think I could murder him if we were wrestling." She smiled fondly at this memory it seemed.  
"But my daughter."  
"Yes, you see , you just chose to let her stay with Sherlock. What a good choice! Little babies always get sick in cars. And I hate to ruin that yellow Aston Martin. Great interior!"  
John looked at her with fear. She knew everything. This woman. Everything.  
"You still want to leave for work? It seems that my game interests you." Eurus smiled sweetly.  
John shook his head.  
"I think you've already guessed what's your next question. So you can only save one or two, depended on your choice. You've actually made it easier, remember? You chose to place your daughter with Sherlock. "  
"How is this supposed to be my pick? Mycroft is driving the car!"  
"They always value your opinion, don't they. I don't think you know, but these two really care about what you think. This makes me so jealous. They never send me a Christmas card."  
"Are you bluffing? You can't kidnap Mycroft. He might be sipping tea in his office now." John had to say something.  
"I told you I don't like playing fair." She put the gun down on the the tea table. "You can leave any time you want, John. But the game continues."  
John leaned forward and quickly grabbed the gun and pointed it at the mad woman.  
"Oh! Soldier boy! Do you have your old uniforms? I love men in them." She looked relaxed.  
"Tell me is my daughter, or Mycroft or Sherlock really on a mountain road now!"  
"You really don't get the game, do you?" She sighed. "It's no use pointing the gun at me. It's not me to give them instructions."  
John was sick of the riddles and he fished his phone from his pocket.  
No signal.  
"You still want to leave? Fine, go on." She leaned back into the couch and looked at him with a weird smile.  
John tried to open the door to the garden. It was locked.  
"I would shoot you, not in the face or aiming for the heart. Tell me if they are really on a mountain road!" John shouted out.  
"Why not? Try it."  
He didn't want to shoot a woman. He checked the gun and found out the gun wasn't loaded. There was no bullet in it.  
"Why don't you sit down? The game is on and I want you to stay calm. It's a bumpy road and I don't want our little John get over-excited." She fished out another gun under her seat.  
John didn't sit down and Eurus wasn't bothered.  
"Would you like to speak to them? "  
John nodded.  
"Which one? Sherlock or Mycroft?"  
"Rosie, let me hear her voice."  
"Sorry, I forgot to mention. I'm the one to deliver their words. I want to be in the game! I don't think you'll like me making high-pitched screaming noise." She did make a high-pitched baby screaming noise.  
"You are bluffing. You can't get them."  
"Molly is a really good girl, despite her obsession of dressing Rosie with pink all over." She smiled like a proper villain now. " I like lilac. Wasn't it what the bridesmaids wore at your wedding. Excellent choice."  
Rosie was sent to Molly this morning, dressed in pink.  
John was devastated.  
//  
"Now, Sherlock or Mycroft? You can talk to both of them separately. But which one is the first? Or the last to say goodbye to?"  
"Mycroft." Mycroft is the one driving the car.  
"Interesting. He taught you how to drive. Now it's your turn to teach him." Eurus shook her head slightly. "What do you want to say to him? I'll put him through."  
John didn't know hot to say this in front of this lunatic woman.  
"Oh, he's in. He can hear you now. Quickly. He's reached twenty miles an hour already."  
John sighed." Mycroft, I need to know if it's you. You've repaired something for me in my flat when Sherlock was pretending to be dead. What was it?"  
Eurus pressed onto her left ear, which seemed to have an earphone in it.  
"He said it was a fan. How sweet? Who'd known."  
It was Mycroft. It must be him. No one else could know this.  
John was defeated.  
"He says he knows that to do." She continued.  
John didn't know how to reply to this. Mycroft would choose to kill himself to save Sherlock let aside Rosie was lying next to Sherlock.  
"Come on, say something to him." She encouraged him. "You could talk him through driving over Sherlock without hurting Rosie. You know, babies are small. That's the clever bit. Sherlock and Rosie are lying side by side now. She is placed next to Sherlock's waist. And Mycroft is an excellent driver. I believe he can somehow manage to avoid Rosie. I like little girls. So I give her my mercy for not ending her life."  
"Then why put her through this? And you are telling me to talk Mycroft through killings his brother?"  
"I like a touch of dramatic, like a proper Holmes. And I don't want this to be a boys' game. Girls want to play too. And if you don't talk, Mycroft will die. If you can talk him through this, Sherlock will die. Either way, you've got blood on your hands. So go on, then."  
John went silent.  
"Perhaps you need an encouragement. Let's put Sherlock in, shall we." Eurus was enjoying herself too much in the game. "He tells you to save Mycroft. And Rosie will be safe,too."  
"Sherlock, don't."  
"He says Mycroft loves you."  
"Don't, Sherlock don't."  
"He also says you loves Mycroft. So touching. Tell me John. Is Mycroft a caring one after you have sex? Or have you ever done it in the car after your driving lessons? Or did he give you a handjob when you were waiting for the traffic light?"  
"Stop it."  
"You know why he took off his wedding ring, don't you. That's very explicit for my brother. He could have done better."  
"Stop it now!"  
There was nothing he could do to stop this happening.  
"You said you are jealous of me. And you were jealous of Sherlock's best friend."  
"Yes. I like where this is going." Eurus leaned forward in her armchair.  
"Why killing your brothers? If you envy me so much, why don't you kill me?"  
"That's why I like you John. You are way better than the people at the hospital. They were so dull. They always chose from what I had offered. Never thought a new thought." That mad woman became so happy.  
"Is this what you want? You've set up a game to make me do it."  
"Then say it."  
John took a deep breath. "Do you have people to stop this?"  
"I might."  
"If I die, do you promise to save both of them?"  
"It depends on how hard you try, John."  
"Try what?"  
"Begging me to save them." She sounded pleased.  
John laughed for the first time he entered this room.  
"You are stalling, John. Mycroft says he can see them now."  
"Please."  
"On your knees."  
John did as she said.  
"Now, beg."  
"Please, do what you want. Kill me and save Rosie and Sherlock, and Mycroft."  
"I like your begging. They heard it too. My brothers will miss you so much."  
She handed John her gun.  
"Go on then."  
John's hand was shaking. Eurus leaned back to enjoy this view.  
"Tell them I'm sorry."  
He pressed the gun to his temple.  
The only thing left to do was to pull the trigger.


	4. The dream of reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'd love to repair a fan for you." Mycroft gave him the brightest smile he could manage.

"John?"   
John blinked away the mist in front of his eyes.  
"Sherlock? What? Why am I here?" John found his voice coarse, like he had swallowed sands. "Eurus! Your sister! Where is she? Where's Rosie? And Mycroft? Are they alright?"   
He was in a hospital. White walls, white sheet, white everything, except Sherlock.  
"Rosie's at Molly's place. Mycroft is outside smoking, I think. Who's Eurus?" Sherlock was confused.  
"Your sister Eurus! She pretended to be my therapist and kidnap you three and put you on a mountain road!" John thought the police or whoever must have rescued them. "Did you get out? Or am I dead?"  
"You are talking nonsense. You haven't seen Ella for months."  
"Not Ella. Madeline! My new therapist."  
"John, you don't have a new therapist. At the aquarium, after... Mary died, you shouted at us and passed out."  
"I don't understand. How? Is this another of her games?"  
The door opened and Mycroft came in.  
He looked concerned but bit embarrassed.  
"Eurus! Your sister Eurus!" John shouted out.  
"John, we don't have a sister."  
Now he was officially confused.  
"Then she must be pretending to be your sister. But you said I've been here since Mary was dead. How is this supposed to happen?"  
Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged worried glances.  
"John, there is no Eurus. You've been here since yesterday."  
"What day is it today?"  
They told him the date and he found that today was the next day Mary died.  
"So I've passed out and had a long dream, then." He said to himself.  
"It seemed so. Are you okay, John? I know Mary's death was a shock to you." Sherlock watched him with worried eyes. "I can't apologize enough for..."  
He was cut off by John.  
"I'm not okay, Sherlock. But I don't blame you."  
"It's just what you've said yesterday..." Sherlock looked surprised.  
"What did I say yesterday?" John tried so hard to remember.  
"I don't think it's a good time to remind you of this. Do you want to eat! "Sherlock dodged his question.  
"What did I say?"  
Sherlock avoided his gaze." John, I'm the one to blame. I don't know what to do to make up for you. I'm sorry that I let this happened."  
"Alright, you've already done it in my dream. You've texted me everyday to say you're sorry. I get it."  
Sherlock smiled wearily. He tried to say something but John suspected that he saw tears in his eyes.  
"Sherlock, I'm sorry too for..." John didn't finish his sentence. And Sherlock's phone buzzed.  
"It's Mrs Hudson. She's worried about you." The tall man with black curls left the room like a wind, leaving John and a silent Mycroft.

"What did you dream, then? Eurus? Means the east wind in Greek?" Mycroft didn't sit down.  
"Funny name. According to her, you locked her in an asylum and after she got out, she pretended to be my therapist and kidnapped you and Sherlock and Rosie to make me commit my own suicide." John hadn't recovered from this nightmare. But he was glad this didn't happen.  
"Why did she do that? Making you commit your own suicide?"  
"She's crazy. She said that, when you were all children, she drowned Sherlock's best friend because Sherlock and that poor little boy didn't want to play with her. Now she's jealous of me." John laughed. It was great to get the tension out of his body.  
"But you said she kidnapped me?" Mycroft looked down at his feet.  
"Yeah, she put you on the yellow Aston Martin without brakes and made you drive down a narrow mountain road where Sherlock and Rosie lay on the middle."  
Mycroft frowned at his description.  
"Sounds like a Bond movie."  
"It is, isn't it. I've watched too much Bond movies my whole life." John sighed.  
"What happened before you woke up? Did someone save us?"   
"Actually, I was about to pull the trigger to blow my head out. There was nothing else I could do. Just gave her what she wants, that crazy woman."   
When he told the whole story out to someone, John felt relieved. He had been in too much pain and indifference in his long long dream.  
It seemed a long time ago that Mary died, even if it was just yesterday.  
And it seemed he finally felt there was no longer a bleeding wound in his heart that reminded him that Mary was dead.  
How funny it is that he accepted his wife's death just a day after she died.  
John wanted to laugh.

"Mycroft." Mycroft raised his head and caught John's gaze. "In my dream, Sherlock and you said things to me through Eurus. I never heard your voice. Sherlock said he thought I love you."  
"What did I say, in your dream?" Mycroft looked intense.  
"You didn't say anything." John looked at the tall man absently.  
"I said I repaired a fan for you."  
"Yes, but...wait, what did you say? How could you know?" John properly panicked.  
"John, why am I not wearing my wedding ring now?" Mycroft raised his right hand.   
A shiny golden ring wasn't there.  
"What do you mean? " John was getting more and more confused.  
"Did you see my wedding ring when I repaired the fan for you?"  
That seemed like an odd question. And john tried his best to memorize the scene.  
He remembered Mycroft kneeling in front of a chair to remove the screws.  
He remembered his delicate hands.  
But there wasn't a ring on his finger.  
That was unusual. Mycroft always wore his ring when he came to visit John.

"No, but why did you mention this?" John felt himself frowning at Mycroft.  
"Because I'm not real." Mycroft made a sad smile. "I never took my ring off."  
"But you did, when you were waiting for us in 221b after Sherlock returned from the drug pit, when we were in the hospital, when I came to your family's house for Christmas! And what do you mean you are not real?" He felt his voice rising. He didn't like not understanding what was going on.  
"John, I'm a coward. But at least I have the decency to stay away from you when you settled down with Mary." Mycroft walked closer. "She's bluffing. You need to wake up, John."  
"Wake up? I thought I woke up just few minutes ago."  
"I never came to the hospital after Sherlock got shot. I wanted to. But there was no use doing so." Mycroft stood beside him. "I'm not real. You have to believe what I've said."  
John closed his eyes.  
"But I don't want to. I'm tired, Mycroft. I don't want to wake up."  
"You have to. If you love me, the real me, you need to wake up." Mycroft pressed closer."And the real Sherlock, you can't let him down."  
"I'm so so tired." John crawled out from his bed to stand away from this Mycroft.  
"I'd love to repair a fan for you." Mycroft gave him the brightest smile he could manage. And next second, he pushed John out of the open window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really weird plot I have to say.  
> Well, plot twist. Moffatiss love that sort of thing.  
> *shrug


	5. The wasted time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What did you say?"   
> "I said I love you."   
> John vomited in the sink.

//  
He felt like flying when he fell from the hospital's window.  
As the solid ground approaching, John felt more and more relaxed. It was nice to get away from the suffocating room.  
He felt wind around his body. The gravity summoned him to the Mother Earth.  
Maybe that was how Sherlock felt when he fell from the roof of the Bart's, John thought.

He opened his eyes.  
Two big crystal clear blue eyes were staring right at him.  
Eurus. The nightmare.  
"You're bluffing." John sighed. He found himself lying on the carpet.  
Eurus, who is a quite talkative villain, didn't say anything.  
"You don't have Mycroft or Sherlock or even Rosie. You are just bluffing." John got up and felt extremely tired. He felt worn up like a single father who has to struggle to raise his child alone. It was funny that this was actually who he was now.  
"He told you." Eurus sat down in her armchair.  
"Yes, Mycroft."  
Then Eurus smiled again, like a freaking maniac.  
"I think that's the whole point, John. " she said cheerfully. "Mycroft never took his ring off. You come up with all these in your funny little head. He'll never acknowledge or even return your feelings no matter how hard you push him."  
John looked at her and Eurus was literally glowing in this bright room.  
"He is the ice man. He doesn't have feelings. Even if there is anything sentimental left in his body, he'll definitely freeze it. His heart, you should see, is a big iceberg. Your love won't even melt the top of it." She laughed in contempt.  
"They have feelings. I've seen them in Sherlock." John felt a mixed feeling of anger with a slight disappointment in it.  
"You know, John, that friendship and romantic love are actually two very different things. Sherlock can treat you as a friend and he can be considered to love you as a friend to protect you. But they all have their secrets, their weakness, their soft spots that no one can know. If you love someone romantically, you want to share your world with them. But, for the Holmes boys, their world is far more complicated to be understood by an outsider, in which circumstances, it's you, John." Eurus snorted. "What do you think, you funny little man, that the Mycroft Holmes, basically the British government, can return your love?"  
"You are not real. And you have no right to judge me." John stood up and pointed the gun at her.  
"I want to leave now. Tell me how to wake up."  
Eurus leant back into the armchair.  
"Say it, say you know Mycroft can never love you back. Say it and you'll wake up safe and sound, in your tiny flat with your baby daughter whose mother just died." She smiled evilly.  
"Tell me how to wake up!" John's hands were shaking. "Tell me or I'll shoot you. I've killed people and I don't think this will haunt my conscience when I'm in my dreams."  
"Look at him! He's so naive." Eurus said to the air. "I am you. You foolish short man! You've longed for a very long time to be a part of the Holmes family and look at me! You wish you could be as clever as them. You can't. Tiny little Johnny, you can't!"  
When John blinked twice, he saw himself sitting in that armchair.  
"I am you. You can't be a Holmes forever." That person said in John's voice.  
"You are not me! You are not me!" John screamed.  
Then that person laughed agin. The sound of laughing echoed in the room.  
When John opened his eyes again, he saw Irene Adler.  
"I can dominate the boys only seeing them two or three times, but look at you, you've spent all your times around them and they are still so cold. You know they just love to hang around with a loyal pet, bouncing around their feet. Even if you die now, you won't be missed. Well, maybe a little bit, but you know they will move on."  
John lowered his gun and looked down at his feet in defeat.  
"Why don't you kill yourself? Death is always a better option." Eurus said to him again.  
"I can't. I have Rosie." John breathed heavily.  
"She will be better off even without you. I'm sure they will insure she has everything she needs. Really better than being brought up by a loser father who lost his wife even though he actually didn't love her and imagined blowing his ex-flatmate's brother in a men's room."  
Shit, she really had a point.  
"Come on, do it now. You won't cause too much damage. After all, you are just an insignificant little man." She looked at him with happiness.  
John raised the gun to his temple like he did few minutes ago.  
It wasn't hard doing it again.

"You know Sherlock will still be seeing clients to get his kicks after you die so it doesn't really matter." She pushed him more.  
But the word client rang a bell.  
Mycroft went on a case with him on his bachelor's night.  
They played games.  
They ran in the streets and Mycroft tackled down a man.  
John smiled at these memories fondly.  
He even laughed.

"What? What's the matter?" Eurus sound panicked.  
"Goodbye." John shot the gun at her.

As the blood flew onto his face, he woke up.  
//  
He was in his bedroom, in a bright Sunday afternoon.  
He didn't see Mary or anyone in the house. He finally stopped seeing things.  
Rosie was sleeping quietly next to him.  
He turned around and took in the beautiful sight of his precious little girl.  
She smiled in her dream sweetly, and John was glad she wasn't interrupted by the ghost of Eurus, or himself.

He checked his phone and there were several texts from Sherlock.  
He hadn't replied a single one.  
But now, he thought he could.

"Thanks for everything, Sherlock. See you next week. John"  
He sent the text and checked his emails, after about five minutes, a text came in.  
"Need me to look after Rosie? I haven't got a case. SH"  
John smiled. He knew Sherlock cared about him. He shouldn't question that.  
"Thx. I'll let you know later."

He actually got another thing to do first.  
He found Mycroft's numbers in his contact list and started a text.  
"Mycroft, I want you to know that I appreciate everything you ever did for me. I love you and please please text me back."  
That was weird. Almost sound like a teenager's make-up text. John deleted it.   
"I love you. JW"  
This was blatant. But he wasn't sure Mycroft could respond well to it.  
He gave up and dialed the number.

Mycroft picked up quickly.  
"Hello"  
"Mycroft, I want to let you know..."  
"John, is this urgent? We..."  
"I just want to let you know that I appreciate everything you ever did for me and I love you and I don't expect anything in return. I'm a pathetic little man but your kindness gives me happiness. Meeting you and Sherlock is the best thing ever happened to me. I'll never regret this."  
John finished his sentences quickly. He didn't want to bother Mycroft for too long.  
The other side of the phone went silence for a while.  
He was waiting for whatever Mycroft had to say. Even Mycroft saying he doesn't love John and never will is okay. He just wanted to let Mycroft know that John was not an ungrateful little shit who messed with other's feelings. He knew he didn't deserve Mycroft, but he felt the need to let Mycroft know this. He had dreamt up an unreal Mycroft who took off his wedding ring to cater to John's secret craving for his love. It was pathetic and John chose to face it.  
He had been hiding his feelings for a really long time because his lack of confidence when it came to the Holmes brothers.  
He chose to end this thing between Mycroft and him was not because of Mary. He swore to God that if Mycroft said something, anything when he told him about Mary. He wouldn't continue dating her.  
John wanted Mycroft to ask him to stay. He needed to feel he was at least a bit important to the almighty Mycroft Holmes. But Mycroft didn't. This made John felt like a piece of crap.  
He knew that Mycroft might have some affections towards him. He was so cross when Mycroft was treating him that nice at his bachelor's night.  
Why not tell John what he thought? Were his sentiments that disgusting that the Mycroft Holmes couldn't even speak them out?  
John could recover from an unpromising relationship but he couldn't stand one that left him with so much regrets.  
He felt it was time to stop denying himself. He loved him. And Mycroft should know this. It was more like a little speech to John himself than to Mycroft. He said these love confession not to confess his love but to end his love. It was perhaps not the best time to do this, but probably the right time.  
Rosie was waking up, flying her pink fists at him.

"John, it was nice of you to say those things. " Mycroft sounded sort of nervous. John wondered whether they should continue this conversation later.

"Mycroft, listen, I'm not..."  
"John, the prime minister asks me to express her fondness of your blog and she wants to know when will you post a new case?"  
"The prime minister? What does she have to do with..."  
"You are still on speaker phone. We're actually in the middle of a meeting."   
Shit, John thought. Mycroft's voice was calm again, but John couldn't tell if he was cross.  
"God, I'm so sorry. Please continue your, em, meeting. Sorry for interrupting, Ma'am... and gentlemen."John gasped as he heard suppressed laughter on the other side of the phone. "I'll post a new case as long as we get one. Sorry again. Good luck with the Brexit."  
He hung up.  
Shit.  
Now half the new cabinet and the prime minister knew the famous Sherlock Holmes's ex live-in PA was in love with the detective's older brother who actually do get to say a thing in whatever the whole government is planning.  
Mycroft would definitely send someone to assassinate him. Maybe a sniper was already aiming at his funny little head outside his bedroom window.  
He even made a bloody joke in the end.  
He wasn't thinking straight just then. What happened to him that suddenly he felt the impulse to call Mycroft to declare his undying love for him?  
That Eurus woman definitely was a succubus, sucking his IQ from his brain in his dream.  
He needed a drink, and he didn't care it was the Sunday's afternoon.  
//  
Mycroft called him back about twenty minutes later.  
"Mycroft, I'm sorry for interrupting and prime minister...I wasn't thinking straight." John almost frowned really hard that made his face looked like a walnut. Rosie was even laughing at him from her baby chair by the kitchen's table.  
"I think, by now, about eighty percent of staff in the Whitehall already know about your little speech, John." Mycroft said in a plain tone. John wished he was killed earlier.  
"You should be cross at me. It's a big deal."  
"Did you mean it, John?"  
"Yes, of course, It was rude of me and I'm really really sorry for damaging your reputation. What can I do to fix it?"  
"I mean, did you really mean what you were saying in the phone?" Mycroft's voice was still calm as usual.  
"Yes, that as well."  
"John, I'm not a man with great sentiments. You have to know that I can't return your feelings as much as you give me."  
"I know. I'm not asking for return. I'm not asking for anything. I just want to tell you this. You are so better than me, so smart, so powerful, so...you. I don't deserve you. It's just... I've been seeing things after Mary died and I just had a weird dream. And suddenly I realized I've been hallucinating about you months before. I imagined you took your wedding ring off for me and I even imagined I gave you a blow job in the hospital after Sherlock was shot. Is it okay to say this? I'm not on speaker phone, right?I don't actually want the whole cabinet know my weird sexual fantasy." John stopped. "That's wrong and I want to stop this nonsense. So I'm not asking for anything. I just called you to let you know I'm grateful for everything you ever did for me and I love you and I hope I won't."  
Mycroft was quiet for about a very short time.  
"You are not hallucinating, John. I'm not wearing my wedding ring. And that did happen in the hospital."  
"That's not... Have you ever repaired a fan for me?"  
"In your flat, yes."  
God must be playing a cruel joke to John.  
"Your sister is really evil, but brilliant."  
"What sister?" Mycroft was confused.  
"You know what? Forget it. I'm drunk. This is drunk talking. Sorry for damaging your reputation and dragging you to this gay affair with me. It is April fool's day? I'll see your brother next week. Goodbye." John hung up the phone.  
What the fucking fuck was that?  
So Mycroft was real. And he was not wearing his wedding ring. And John did give him a blow job in the hospital.  
So what now? He should just shut the fuck up and took care of Rosie instead of presenting his little speech to half of the cabinet and Mycroft tucking Holmes.  
This was going to be super creepy.  
He didn't even can afford to think this through.  
And Rosie needed a change.  
He had to get sober.  
//  
At about half past six, he was still in regret about his fancy little speech which seemed really inappropriate now. He couldn't believe he made this matter worse than ever.  
Rosie was sleeping in her small bed again. He was glad that this could give him a moment of his own to sort out his mess.  
So, he just called a Mycroft who took off his ring, and said he loves him.  
What the fuck was happening?

The door bell rang and John wasn't bothered to answer. He was too drunk to stand up and go vomit in the toilet.  
He knew it was probably one of Mycroft's people to take him to some abandoned warehouse to have a secret meeting with Mycroft.  
He didn't know how to face him actually.

Then the his phone buzzed.  
It was Mycroft.  
He reluctantly picked up.  
"Hi, Mycroft! "  
"John, will you let me in please?" Mycroft said on the other side of the phone.  
"Sorry, I don't think I'm that sober to get to the door. It's... beers you know. Can't have too much. I probably need to sleep for a while."  
"John, open the door."  
"Why? I thought you could pick the lock like Sherlock." John giggled.  
"I love you."  
"What did you say?"   
"I said I love you."   
John vomited in the sink.

//  
Mycroft stared at Rosie with a complicated expression.  
The baby in pink grabbed the tall man's suit lapels in her little fists.  
"She likes you." John said as Rosie made baby noises at Mycroft.  
"She looks... well-functioning." Mycroft held the baby as if she was a nuclear bomb.  
"You know you can still pull back. I'm a widower with a baby. I'm pretty sure you can find a twenty something hot young man with good bottoms."  
"You are right. You should see what those lords have. Diogenes club is not the only club those lords are in."  
"Oh, so... you have that sort of thing in your club? I've always thought it weird to forbid talking in it. "  
Mycroft gave him a disapproving look.  
"I'm still surprised about things going this fast. We never date. We even haven't been in a relationship before. And now we're getting married? Or you're just doing this to save your reputation."  
"We did date." Mycroft set Rosie down to her bed.  
"You mean shagging me for six months."  
"I'm in my late forties, John. I don't think we have the time to do all those holding hands and walking along the Thames stuff."  
"So you gave me a full driving course."  
"Yes, I think it worked well." Mycroft smiled.  
"You've planned it. I can't believe this. Using your flashy super cars to hook me up. Classic. Why didn't I notice this? This is literally textbook." John buried his face in hands.  
"I'm glad you like them."  
"What is Sherlock going to say? Does he always know this when he was pretending to be dead?"  
"I tried to keep this from him but he constantly made jokes about my love life. So I think he knew."  
"This is insane, really. Marrying your ex flatmate's brother who is your ex lover."  
"You said yes and you can't regret it. My associates are already gossiping about my perverted sexual appetite. The prime minister is particularly interested in our story and even sent her private secretaries and the chancellor to ask about this."  
"So your proposal to me is actually about saving your reputation."  
"In a way, yes."  
"Listen, I don't read Latin. I can't speak fluent French. I'm not specialized in anything except being your brother's PA and hiding his cigarettes. I work in a clinic and I'm a worn-out doctor who's trying to get his bonuses. I have several relationships with women and few men before I met you. I married an assassin who attempted to kill your brother and died for him later. I have a one-year-old daughter. My favorite movies are all classic cults and Bond. I'm too ordinary. And you're so... you. With your expensive three-piece suits and umbrella probably with a gun or sword in it. I don't think you can find a more weird match than us."  
Mycroft handed John his umbrella.  
"Try open it."  
John did as he was told and he found that the umbrella was just a very expensive umbrella.  
"We are all human, John. We are all unique in our own way but every one has his ordinary bits. I'm not as powerful as you think. It's the delusion I give you. As you can see, this is just an umbrella, with no sword or pistol in it. I'm a civil servant who work in MI5 and report to the Home Secretary. I'm not the prime minister and you will not become the First Lady. Yes, I went to Oxford and we actually had some illegal fun every Friday night. I like Bond movies and I sometimes enjoy my evening with coconut ice creams and crappy tv. I watch Downton abbeys and Game of thrones. I'm not a five hundred years old vampire who live in a castle with young maids in his dungeon. I'm ordinary as well."  
"You watching Downton abbey... that's... unexpected. I think Hugh Bonneville is great."  
Mycroft gave him a small smile.  
"Actually I lied. I've never watched it. It's "Call the midwife"."  
John laughed.  
"You know that some producers came to me few days ago to talk about adapting my blogs to a tv series. They want to name it "Sherlock". And they are very keen about the idea that I'm secretly in love with Sherlock. They've already got some suitable actors in mind. Probably in their adaption, I'll be married to Sherlock for two years now."  
"I don't like it."  
"Are you jealous I'll be married to your brother?"  
"They are going to include me in their tv program?"  
"Yes, I think so. You are an important character."  
"I don't like being portrayed as some bald incompetent drama queen to show Sherlock's braveness or intelligence."  
"I never said anything about bald or incompetence."  
"I'm sure they will."  
"Relax, they won't. Besides, their offer is really tempting. Raising a baby in central London is expensive."  
"We've wasted so much time, John. "  
"I think they mentioned a guy in "the office" to play me. I'm actually okay with that."  
"Stop talking."  
"And a guy with an absurdly long name, I can't remember clearly."  
"Do shut up."  
"Okay."

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the final chapter.  
> I'm so happy writing it. But I think there are a lot of inconsistencies in it.  
> The dream scenes come from "Inception". John is in a double-dream. The first layer is with Eurus and the second is with Mycroft in the hospital.  
> Mycroft without ring is real, in case I haven't made it clear.  
> John was not confident enough to think he deserved Mycroft so he had a bad dream. Eurus is actually John's inferiority complex. He wished to be as clever as the Holmes brothers, but he couldn't. And his unconfidence mocked him for loving someone he shouldn't. But in the process, John realized his love for Mycroft and he prepared to die because he couldn't stand the torture of his heart. But in the next layer of dream, Mycroft (without ring) is actually the hope John gave himself. But this hope is not strong enough to clear away all his inferiority. So in his dream, John thought Mycroft without ring is not real and with his small encouragement, John was back to confront his worst nightmare, Eurus. Luckily, John killed his inferiority because he remembered what Mycroft did for him and he was awake.  
> //  
> And of course, the scene where John phoned Mycroft and was actually on speaker phone is from BJ's diaries. Reall love the trilogy.  
> //  
> And please please leave your comments below. I'm really eager to see what you think about this.  
> I'm not a native English speaker so, many apologies for stupid stupid grammar mistakes and the poor choice of words.  
> Thank you for reading here.  
> You, my readers, are my inspirations.


End file.
